


agape is greek for fisting

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: EDM PWP oneshots [1]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fisting, Humiliation, Humiliation kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	agape is greek for fisting

**Author's Note:**

> EXTREMELY explicit! no plot at all.  
> enjoy xoxo

“Are you sure?” Hugo breathes against Porter’s neck and Porter wonders, in the distant part of him that isn’t arching his back in an attempt to grind his aching dick against Hugo’s thigh, how Hugo expects him to make any kind of rational choice like this.

Hugo pulls back before Porter can truly gain any friction, holding Porter down and at arm’s length, and Porter bites down on a whine of disappointment. Hugo’s face is serious, mouth turned down a little bit. Porter tries to pull himself back together, enough at least to look somewhat honest.

“Please,” he asks. His voice wobbles. Hugo seems to like it, his fingers are suddenly biting deeper into Porter’s hips. His fucking hands. Jesus, Porter wants them all over him, wants them fucking his mouth and his ass, wants them wrapped around his throat or his wrists or his cock. Anywhere, whatever, he just _wants_.

“Porter,” Hugo says and his voice is already a little bit jagged. A hint of what’s to come. “Use your words.”

Porter whines rebelliously and bucks against Hugo’s hands, a little tantrum that subsides as soon as it starts, ending with rolling his head away. His cheeks are hot and embarrassment is churning through his stomach, making his dick swell and twitch against his stomach. Hugo laughs a little bit, barely a huff of sound that makes the blush bloom hotter in Porter’s cheeks, but otherwise doesn’t say a word.

“I want,” he says thickly at last, his voice coming reluctantly and slurred, “you to put your fingers in me.”

“Non, mon coeur,” Hugo murmurs, “Ask for what you really want.”

Porter jolts because he can feel the breath from Hugo’s words tickling his stomach. When he looks down he sees Hugo bent to hover over him, mouth inches from his erection. It makes his cock jump and seeing it is obscene, embarrassing. Hugo’s smiling mouth shiny-wet from kissing and then his own leaking cock, red and curving and smearing precum across his belly.

“Please,” he says and his voice breaks because he’s so _hard_ and he wants Hugo inside him so _badly_. He’s empty, ass aching for Hugo’s mouth or fingers or cock. “Please, Hugo, I want you to fist me, _please_.”

“Good,” Hugo says and sits up a little bit. The damp heat of his breath disappears and the tiniest noise slips from Porter’s mouth at the chill that follows. His cock is aching. He needs to come, so badly it’s the only thing he can think about that isn’t Hugo’s hand and how it’s going to be inside him soon.

The lube cap pops and Porter tries not to look at the motions of Hugo slicking up his fingers. It’s too much, too hot. Too much like Hugo fucking him already.

“Open,” Hugo says and presses a hand to Porter’s thigh. Obediently he spreads his legs, hissing when Hugo moves forward and runs a cold, wet finger over his hole. It feels perfunctory and casually possessive and makes his cock twitch. Hugo does it again, a firm motion against his rim, grinning when Porter moans.

“Ready?” he asks softly and Porter takes in a deep breath, steadying and centering.

“Yeah,” he says at last and Hugo smiles, withdraws his fingers for a moment.

“Good. You can take two, of course,” Hugo says conversationally and Porter receives no more warning before Hugo’s fingers breach his asshole.

It stings. Not a lot, barely at all; they fucked the night before when Porter had finally convinced himself to ask for this and his hole isn’t as tight as it could be. He whines in protest but doesn’t move because Hugo’s fingers are pressing in so gently, delicious fullness already making everything so far away.

“Look at you, taking it so greedily,” Hugo continues. His tone is praising but his words make Porter flush, a hot rush of embarrassment in his chest. “I knew you could.”

For a moment a rush of pride fills Porter’s chest and then quick behind it the embarrassment again. He makes a noise, something that tries to be protest but Hugo’s fingers are bottoming out inside him and he can’t speak because they’re pressing relentlessly against his prostate.

Hugo laughs, soft and kind, and spends a moment scissoring his fingers inside Porter. Porter moans again and bucks a little bit, mindless motion hoping to get him deeper. Warningly Hugo presses his free hand to Porter’s hip until he stills, fingers still fucking in and out of him too slowly.

“Needy,” Hugo says and his tone is a little bit breathless. Porter makes a protesting noise that breaks into a moan when Hugo thrusts into him viciously, back arching at how suddenly hard and deep Hugo’s fingers are in him.

For a while Porter loses track of time, lost on the feeling of Hugo’s fingers stretching his hole. It can’t have been long, maybe a few minutes, but the stretch is almost gone. The friction has turned mostly into a glide, Hugo’s fingers sliding into him easily. Hugo finally pauses

“Ready for another?” he asks. Porter nods rapidly, desperately. He wants more, wants everything, wants to come. For a moment he considers begging Hugo to fuck him, Hugo’s cock in him always feels so good. It’s only how much he wants this – wants Hugo’s hand inside him, wants him deep and intimate and unimaginably full – that stops him.

Hugo’s fingers withdraw and Porter makes a displeased noise that has Hugo laughing. Restlessly he squirms while Hugo slicks up his fingers again, wishing Hugo had put him on his stomach. Maybe then he’d have some friction for his aching cock, might be able to rut against the blankets and finally get to come.

“Impatient,” Hugo chides and his fingers are against Porter’s hole again. He doesn’t wait for Porter to be ready this time either, just begins to push in slowly.

Porter tries to catch his breath but it’s hard, he’s already so full and he loves it. There’s a stinging burn at the stretch but it doesn’t make him love it any less, just adds an edge to the pleasure. He pants and moans and tries not to buck too much when Hugo’s fingertips finally press against his prostate in a shiver of pleasure.

Hugo’s fingers bottom out and he doesn’t pause for Porter to adjust, just pulls his fingers back rapid and just this side of painful and then pushes back in again, brutal. Porter cries out with it and then Hugo’s fingers are fucking into him so quickly, so rough. It feels so good there are stars behind Porter’s eyes, no thought at all but the need to come.

He reaches for his cock thoughtlessly and Hugo makes a warning noise, batting his hand away.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he commands. His voice is cracked but strong and Porter makes a miserable noise but fists his hands in the blankets instead. He can’t imagine disobeying like this but he wants to come so _badly_.

“Do you want to come?” Hugo asks and his tone is lilting and soft, a vicious discord with the three fingers grinding relentlessly into Porter’s hole. For a long, long moment Porter can’t speak, can barely breathe, can’t do anything but make desperate little noises that echo humiliatingly. His cock jumps, though, another series of fat drops of slick precum leaking from the tip.

“Yes,” he manages at last. Hugo’s fingers thrust into him again and his sobs for air, takes enough breath in to keep begging. “Please, please, let me come, please!”

Hugo hums, a breathless pleased noise and then his fingers spread and scissor inside Porter and Hugo’s other hand – his fucking hands, so big, fingers so long and talented – comes up to trace so delicately down the vein on the underside of Porter’s cock.

“I don’t know,” he sighs and he still sounds so kind, like he’s trying to do Porter a favor. “Should I let you? You might not want my whole hand anymore when you do, and I know how much you’ve been gagging for it.”

Porter sobs again, can’t think of words, stomach tight and face hot with humiliation. He’s so hard and his cock aches with the desire to come, his ass is so full and he can’t think through the steady, brutal motion of Hugo’s fingers fucking him. He thinks if only Hugo were to touch his cock right now he would come.

“Yes,” he slurs out at last, because Hugo’s fingers are still fucking into his ass relentlessly but Hugo’s eyebrow is coming up impatiently and he doesn’t ever, ever want Hugo to decide to stop. “I want, I will, please don’t stop, I need it.”

Hugo makes a pleased noise and leans up, and for a moment Porter is holding in a scream because the angle of Hugo’s fingers inside of him changes with it until they’re pressing relentless and impossibly rough against his prostate. He can’t see for a long moment and when he blinks his eyes clear messily Hugo’s nuzzling against his neck.

It feels distantly good, hot and wet and then Porter _screams_ , the hot sting of pain exploding behind his eyes.

Hugo kisses the place his teeth had sunk in, the thick muscle at the join of Porter’s shoulder and neck. A soothing lick, warm and gentle, before he’s moving up again to press his mouth to the skin beneath Porter’s ear.

“Such a pretty cockslut for me,” he breathes.

Porter’s aching cock jumps again and he turns his head away, a thick noise of denial leaking between his teeth. He’s so hard it hurts and he’s dizzy with it and Hugo’s words impact him somewhere in the gut. He loves it, he loves it and he hates that he does, a sick and delicious churn of humiliation.

“You are,” Hugo murmurs, voice even softer. It’s fond, a sweet intimate tone that makes his words a million times worse. “Such a slut not even a cock will satisfy you. Greedy and ungrateful. You are very lucky, non? That I am willing to do this for you. Thank me, Porter.”

Porter sobs in answer. He feels the moment his tears spill over, hot drops racing down his cheeks. It adds to the heavy humiliation in him and when Hugo leans up a little to kiss the cooling tear track left behind he makes a soft protesting noise.

“Thank me,” Hugo repeats and Porter takes in a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” he gets out. Hugo laughs, dark and pleased.

“Who are you addressing, Porter?” he asks and Porter pulls in another sobbing breath, the closest he dares to a protestation. Words are so hard and so far from him right now, and the way his failures go straight to his aching cock still humiliates him.

“Thank you, Hugo,” he manages after a moment and Hugo smiles. Porter can feel it pressed against the skin of his throat, slick teeth and then the gentlest kiss.

“You are welcome,” Hugo says, pulling back so that Porter can see the beatific smile and the way he cocks his head. So casual, as if his fingers aren’t still fucking into Porter’s ass so hard his hole is sore already, as if his words aren’t sweet poison.

Porter moans because he doesn’t think he can make words. Not anymore.

“Beautiful,” Hugo hums and his free hand closes around Porter’s cock with such lack of fanfare that for a moment Porter thinks he’s come already, the vertigo moment of pleasure so extreme it makes him sick. For a long moment he can’t think, can’t process anything, and when he comes back to himself he discovers he’s been making pathetic noises, hands locked in the sheet and hips hitching pitifully down against Hugo’s fingers.

“Such a perfect slut,” Hugo says and his hand moves on Porter’s shaft once and Porter comes.

He thinks he screams but he can’t tell, his ears a roar of noise. The only thing he can feel is Hugo, Hugo’s hand milking his cock and his fingers so deep inside Porter’s ass he can’t breathe with it. It takes him what feels like an age to come back even a little bit, to hear Hugo’s breathing. Rapid, harsh, and in some distant part of himself Porter feels pleased.

He opens his eyes and Hugo’s watching him. Eyes dark, looking so pleased and proud that Porter can’t help a tired squirm.

“Still with me, mon coeur?” Hugo asks softly and Porter pulls in a deep, shaking breath.

“Yes,” he murmurs after a moment. His body is still buzzing and when Hugo’s fingers shift inside him something like fireworks go off behind his eyes. With Porter’s confirmation something shifts in Hugo’s face and suddenly Hugo’s leaning in over him again.

“Are you ready for another?” he asks quietly. When Porter nods because he still can’t fathom words Hugo smiles, pleased.

The sensation of his fingers withdrawing is heartbreaking, the sudden emptiness inside him almost crushing. The noise he makes is soft and desolate and he barely turns his head away in time as Hugo’s eyes flick to him. He closes his eyes and hears the pop of Hugo opening the lube and the obscene squelch of pouring more out onto his fingers.

“I’m here,” Hugo murmurs to him and Porter opens his eyes to find Hugo leaning over him. Like this he’s everything Porter can see, all he can be aware of. A moment later he feels Hugo’s fingers tease against his entrance and he makes another noise, feeling heat blooming again in his cheeks at how he sounds.

“Alright, mon chou?” Hugo asks and Porter nods, keeping his eyes closed. “Try to relax for me.”

Hugo presses a soft kiss to his collarbone and then his fingers are driving into Porter, four of them, and Porter cries out with it.

It feels like Hugo’s fingers are going to split him open, he’s been spread too wide and it hurts badly. His voice runs out and then all he can do is gasp for air, grasp at the sheets under him and let the tears run from his eyes. The burn is indescribable but more overwhelming than that is the stretch, the impossible fullness. It feels like Porter can’t catch his breath against it, like his lungs aren’t dragging in enough air.

Hugo’s fingers pause inside him and he becomes aware of something else through the overwhelming ache. It’s Hugo’s voice and Porter can’t make the words make sense but the tone is soft and proud and a little bit awed and Porter focuses on that until his breath slows and he realizes his hole has stopped hurting quite so much now.

“-so good for me, love, you’re doing so well,” Hugo’s saying when Porter can finally make out his words. “Taking everything so beautifully, I can barely believe it, you are so beautiful-,”

Porter whines, a broken noise interrupting Hugo’s words and Hugo pauses. A kiss is pressed to Porter’s shoulder and he turns shakily towards it, making a pleased noise against Hugo’s lips when Hugo understands and leans up to kiss him.

Hugo’s hand begins to press in again and Porter breaks from the kiss to pant. The sensation of fullness is crushing, all he can think about. He can’t imagine taking more, doesn’t know how he’s managed to take this much.

He can’t stop the little noises that come when Hugo’s fingers pull out a little and then press forward again. It’s barely a rocking motion – certainly not the vicious fuck of three fingers – but it feels like it’s echoing through his whole body. It’s building to something, some huge crescendo inside of him.

“Just a little more,” Hugo murmurs and Porter opens his eyes just a crack. His eyelashes are wet and for a while he can’t focus but when he does he can see Hugo’s face.

It’s awed, eyes dark and huge and flicking from Porter’s ass to his face and back. Porter closes his eyes again and reaches out with clumsy, nerveless fingers to press against Hugo’s ribcage, to dig mindlessly against warm skin. A moment later fingers tangle with his, grounding. They’re sticky and distantly Porter thinks it must be his own come, drying on Hugo’s skin.

He drifts for a while on the sensation, on Hugo’s hand in his and Hugo’s fingers in his ass, Hugo’s body pressed against his hip. Slowly he becomes aware of Hugo’s fingers scissoring a little inside him, spreading and stretching his rim. It sends lazy lightning through his nerves, waves of shivering and overwhelming sensation.

It’s not pleasure. It’s something altogether different and he finds himself shifting restlessly, a back and forth motion because he isn’t sure if he wants more or wants it to stop.

“Are you ready for the whole thing, love?” Hugo asks.

Porter tries to think, tries to measure it all. He can’t except there’s something in him, a hunger for more, to push himself over that edge he can feel close and closer with every press and stretch of Hugo’s fingers inside him. He wants to go over that edge, to feel the other side.

His hole is sore and hot but the burn of stretching is gone, the ache is almost nothing. Hugo’s fingers slide in and out of him so easily. He thinks he can do it.

“Yes,” he tries to say. It comes out more of a humming noise, a soft sigh of affirmation. Hugo hums back and ducks forward, presses a kiss to Porter’s stomach as he slowly withdraws his fingers. Porter holds in his noise at the empty sensation but only barely, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his fists into the bed.

The emptiness is awful and devastating. When Hugo presses back in overhead, fingertips brushing warningly against his ass, he makes a pleased sound and clumsily tries to spread his legs further.

“Shh,” Hugo hushes and pets Porter’s thigh with his clean hand, pushing it up to rest against his chest. Dimly Porter recognizes that it’s easier for him to reach Porter’s hole now but he can’t help the rush of warmth at Hugo’s closeness, pressed bodily to him. He almost misses the moment Hugo probes into him with a fingertip, sliding easy and slick into Porter’s well-fucked hole.

“I’m going to go very slowly but it’s going to hurt when we get to my knuckles,” Hugo tells him softly. Things Porter knows but like this had forgotten, is grateful to hear even when they’re gone from his head in the next second. “But after that I should slide right in. Fuck, Porter, you’re being so good for me…”

He trails off, presses a kiss against Porter’s knee.

“If you need me to stop just say or tap the bed twice, okay?” he asks and Porter nods slowly. He’s dazed, hypnotized by the soft probe of Hugo’s finger inside him. He can feel it but it’s almost laughable, no stretch at all. When Hugo eases it out again he can’t help the soft sigh of disappointment.

It’s hard to pay attention but he forces himself to listen to the pop of the lube cap and then the slick noises that go on for so long. It helps him not to think about how his hole feels, sore and slick and empty.

Eventually Hugo leans back in and Porter’s glad when he doesn’t say anything because he’s sure he can’t talk, can barely think. Instead he presses his slick, cool fingertips to Porter’s hole for a moment in warming and then starts to press in.

For a long moment it’s nothing, Porter’s hole accepting Hugo in easily. The fullness builds rapidly, Hugo’s fingers spreading him. It’s all he can do to stay relaxed, eyes rolling back with the sensation of Hugo’s thumb catching briefly on his rim before being tucked in too. Hugo’s free hand is on his thigh and he tries to focus on that instead, long fingers pressing gently into his skin, petting soothingly.

He can’t help the whimper when Hugo’s knuckles hit his rim, fullness finally becoming a stretch. It’s hot and burning but Hugo eases forward, relentless and slow. For a moment Porter thinks he won’t be able to take it, that he’ll break under the strain.

He feels the moment Hugo’s hand slips inside him entirely.

Hugo makes a noise and distantly Porter can tell it’s desperate, ruined. He can’t think about it though because Hugo’s hand is _inside_ him, he can feel it carefully forming a fist. Nothing else matters, nothing but the way it moves inside him and how he’s never felt anything like it before.

He can’t breathe.

It’s too much, too full. His ass is throbbing, hole so sore and wet he can’t process it all. He can feel everything, feel all of Hugo’s fingers inside him, every knuckle and the shape of his wrist stretching Porter’s hole. So deep inside him, so much, and he starts crying because he can’t stop himself. Great, shuddering sobs that feel like they crack his chest wide open.

He feels shaking and exposed and vulnerable. There’s something in his chest, bright and massive and unbearable. He needs something, needs some kind of safety, and it isn’t until Hugo leans up as well as he can to press gentle kisses to his shoulder that he understands what he needs.

“P-please,” he gets out. His voice is gone, a hoarse whisper. Maybe he’s been screaming but he can’t remember.

“You’ve done so well,” Hugo replies and his own voice is raw, broken and so fucking awed. “You’re amazing, Porter, there are no words, you’ve taken it all so well, I’m so proud of you.”

Porter nods and breathes and cries and the bright, huge thing in his chest unfurls into something else. A soft thing, a sweet layer of calm and sparkling clarity over everything.

Eventually Hugo moves again, presses awkward kisses to Porter’s shoulder and then lifts himself to look him in the eye while jostling his hand inside Porter as little as possible.

“Time to stop?” he asks and Porter nods after a moment. He’s so calm now, so full of bright love and how much Hugo has taken care of him. Distantly he’s aware of pain as Hugo slowly eases his hand free but he doesn’t care, can’t pay any attention until Hugo’s pulled free completely. Until he pulls away for a moment and disappears.

With ugly abruptness the weight of his emptiness descends on him.

For a moment it’s crushing, an awful lack, and he can feel the pathetic sob welling up in his lungs. His hole hurts in a sick, used way and the convulsive bodily shakes start almost instantly. He tries weakly to curl up, to protect his chest where the wounded feeling is radiating from, and whines when his body barely obeys him. Panic and shame, incoherent feelings with nowhere to go, flooding in and in-

Suddenly Hugo is there again, hands pressing gently to Porter’s wrists and drawing them back away from his body. Soft hands sliding over his ribcage and sides, touches to reminding him that he’s whole. When Porter reaches out with an incoherent noise Hugo goes easily, wrapping an arm around Porter’s waist and pulling him in gingerly close to Hugo’s body.

“You did so well,” Hugo murmurs in Porter’s ear. Porter breathes in and feel his shakes slow as Hugo’s broad palms smooth over his hips. “You’re so beautiful like this, you’re so good. There’s nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of.”

He pauses long enough to press a series of butterfly-light kisses to Porter’s shoulder and throat.

“You can sleep,” he says softly, a moment later. “I’ll clean you up, I’ll be here the whole time.”

Porter makes a token protesting noise but his body is already shutting down, sinking down into exhausted sleep after too long in total overload, and so he chooses to believe Hugo’s words. All he can do is tilt his head back and make a dazed, pleased noise when Hugo brushes a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“I love you,” he hears before he slips under entirely.


End file.
